


I Love CN

by SupernaturalMystery306



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Becky Ships It, Belatedly realizing to tag this as fluff so, Crushes, First Grader Destiel, Fluff, Gift Fic, Happy Birthday Set :D, Happy Ending, Kid Castiel, Kid Castiel/Kid Dean Winchester, Kid Dean Winchester, M/M, Matchmaker Charlie, Matchmaker Jo, Michael and Zach are bullies, Pre-Slash, Rumors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 18:52:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6436264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupernaturalMystery306/pseuds/SupernaturalMystery306
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The other six-year-old was way too cute, in Dean’s opinion. He was always right when he raised his hand in class, and he was the most courteous. Once, when Ms.  Harvelle had made them sit together, Castiel had lent him a pencil after Dean broke his own. From that day onwards Dean had really admired him.</i><br/>.....<br/><i>He had just walked into math class when he stopped in his tracks. There, on the blackboard that Ms. Harvelle wrote questions on, someone—and Dean recognized that handwriting as Zachariah’s—had written in bold letters:</i><br/>DEAN LIKES CASTIEL.</p><p>When Dean gets accused of liking Castiel, he really takes offence and lashes out at everyone who talks to him about it. He <i>hates</i> it. But why does he miss it so much when people stop mentioning it?</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Love CN

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Setaeru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Setaeru/gifts).



> Set, I know you love sex (not like that...... or maybe you do, who knows) but this is pure fluff. Because I know you even like fluff. :D I actually adore this idea, even though it didn’t turn out as great as it could have. :P Oh, yes, this is the “adorable” idea. :P I hope like hell that you like this. :)
> 
>  ~~I couldn’t make it as long as 1768 or however many words Don’t Stop had, but I hope you can overlook that this is tiny compared to what you wrote for me. XP~~ Oh, this ended up being long enough. :P
> 
> And I’ve got a nice lil pick up line for you because I’m a weird pervy asshole who chats up strangers. (Not really.) Sooooo, here you go:  
>  **Set, do you do sets? (The math ones?) Becauuuuuuse, you are _Setsy._**  
> .....Please say that was legendary. Pretty please. :’D  Also tomorrow (April 4) school is reopening, and the first chapter in the math book is called Sets, so I’ll probs have to do it tomorrow. :/ But lololol I gotta do those sets. Omg no, there’s no perverted meaning in that sentence.
> 
> Aaaaaaaaaaand I’m such a damn dumbass. HAPPY FREAKING BIRTHDAYYYYYYYYYYY. :D YOU CAN NO LONGER SAY “I WAS SIXTEEN ONCE THOUGH.” ;D
> 
> This has been beta-ed by [kittenbot (who is buffenator on tumblr)](http://buffenator.tumblr.com). (If you're reading this) Dude thank you so so so so so much. There were SO many embarrassing mistakes there that I forgot to catch. XD This fic would be pretty shitty without you so thank you. :D

* * *

Dean Winchester looked around the classroom, bored out of his mind. Everybody was still doing their worksheets, but Dean had already finished his. There were just twenty math problems to solve, what was so difficult about them that it took them an hour? He had finished his in fifteen minutes, and he wasn’t the smartest one in the class!

Speaking of the smartest... Dean looked at Castiel Novak, who was, as usual, frowning at something outside the window with his head tilted, having completed his work in record time.

The other six-year-old was way too cute, in Dean’s opinion. He was always right when he raised his hand in class, and he was the most courteous. Once, when Ms. Harvelle had made them sit together, Castiel had lent him a pencil after Dean broke his own. From that day onwards Dean had really admired him.

As his gaze roamed over the rest of his classmates, Dean decided to once again just look down at his own desk. He was _bored_.

Picking up his pencil, he decided to draw on a spare sheet of paper. He didn’t really like drawing that much, but he could always use practice, and improve himself.

Drawing random shapes for some time, he decided to practice cartoons.

He remembered the comic his cousin Gwen had been reading the last time he had visited her house. She was fourteen, and while Dean was just six years old, she was always nice to him, unlike his other cousins.

The man he was trying to draw had been in the comic. His name was a long one, something which started with a C, but he didn’t exactly remember it. Constine? No, it had an A, so Constane?

Dean frowned, frustrated. He hated when he didn’t remember something.

Abandoning the sketch, he decided to draw Doraemon. He knew how to spell Doraemon, he thought happily.

Completing the drawing of the robot, he wrote down next to it, _I love Disney_.

Suddenly, an idea struck him. Gleefully, he was about draw another character before the bell rang and Ms. Harvelle started to move around the class, collecting the worksheets.

Deciding to write down a note so he wouldn’t forget to draw later, he wrote down on the paper:

_I love CN_

He tore it off, folding it neatly and slipping it into his pencil case.

There, now he wouldn’t forget it.

***

Dean was sitting down in his seat for the next class when Zachariah came over to him. He was smirking as always, walking as if he owned the place. Dean really disliked him.

Looking down at Dean, he drawled out, “Deanie, can I have a pencil? I don’t have my own.”

And Dean was struck with disbelief at how Zachariah thought he could just order Dean around and _steal_ his stuff. He was also suddenly aware of how Michael had picked up his pencil case and started to go through it.

“No!” Dean tried to leap forward, but the desk was in the way. He was surprised when Michael put down his pencil case back on his desk. He squinted, but didn’t say anything. Looking into his case to see if Michael had taken anything, he was satisfied to see that nothing had been picked up, except for the piece of paper on which he had written _I love CN_. It wasn’t as if it was important. Dean could deal with a piece of paper gone. He remembered he had to draw it anyway.

Looking at Michael for a moment, he was surprised and a little anxious to see both him and Zachariah looking at the paper and laughing. He wasn’t scared, he knew that he could beat them both in a fight, but he just did not want to create a scene.

But as the teacher walked in, he decided to forget everything and learn what Mr. Singer would be teaching. Kicking his legs about and situating himself properly on his seat, he began paying attention to the teacher.

***

It was only five days after the incident with Zachariah that something else happened.

He had just walked into math class when he stopped in his tracks. There, on the blackboard that Ms. Harvelle wrote questions on, someone—and Dean recognized that handwriting as Zachariah’s—had written in bold letters:

DEAN LIKES CASTIEL.

And drawn lots of crooked hearts.

Ms. Harvelle usually arrived two minutes after the class began, and the kids had taken full advantage of the fact. She wasn’t there yet, and they were doing as they pleased. Many of them were now laughing at Dean, looking at his face and the blackboard.

He could hear some kids talking to Castiel, but he heard no reply from the boy.

He breathed deeply. He could do it. He could get past the urge to scream, or worse—cry. He wasn’t small anymore, he was six! He _could_ keep his emotions in check.

Dean tried to control himself, he really did, but when he heard Michael say, “Awww, is Dean going to cry, Castiel?” he lost it.

He didn’t even remember it, but one moment he was staring at the floor, and the next, Ms. Harvelle was pulling him back from a wailing Michael. He stared in horror at the dark haired boy. _What had he done?_ Was _he_ responsible for Michael’s crying?

“Dean!” he heard, and looked up guiltily at Ms. Harvelle. She looked back at him, disappointment evident in her eyes, and Dean was sure she would call his mom. They were both good friends, and Dean would most definitely get scolded.

He was trying to think of what to say while Zachariah started making pathetic excuses, when a quiet voice was heard, “Zachariah and Michael were teasing Dean. You can actually look at the blackboard, Ms. Harvelle. They were levying false accusations at him.”

Dean gaped at the boy who had spoken. He didn’t even understand half the words that had been spoken, but he was too busy being surprised at the fact that Castiel Novak had just defended him.

Ms. Harvelle looked at the words written on the blackboard, and gasped. “What is the meaning of this, boys?!” Dean was a little satisfied to see that Zachariah had paled. Michael was still sniffling quietly, but he had calmed down considerably, since he was no longer shrieking. It was him that elaborated, “Ms. Harvelle, Dean likes Castiel.”

And that was it. He didn’t even say anything else. Even Zachariah was smirking now, having forgotten that he could be punished for writing the offensive words.

Dean just glared at Michael, his jaw hung open. Finally, he found his voice, “ _No, I DON’T!_ I don’t even know why and how they are thinking that.”

“Dean,” Ms. Harvelle said, sighing, “I can’t help you with that. That is among you boys to decide. I understand that you’re upset, and I’m sorry that you are, but your behaviour is unacceptable. You _have_ hit another student, and that cannot be overlooked. Apologize to Michael.”

Dean deflated. Why were they not seeing that he was innocent? Why was Michael getting favored? In a tiny, almost inaudible voice, he said, “Sorry.”

Michael nodded, obviously satisfied, and even though he had tear tracks on his face and—oh, Dean realized he had slapped him—a hand print on his cheek that looked like it would bruise, he looked more dignified than Dean felt.

Sure that the incident was over, Ms. Harvelle began the lesson.

But today Dean could barely focus on whatever she was teaching. It went in through one ear and out through the other. He just kept staring at his desk dejectedly.

He didn’t notice Castiel watching him, with his signature head tilt.

***

Over the next few days, more people joined in on teasing him. Wherever he went, people would ask him how Castiel was, why he wasn’t with him, blah blah blah.

How was Dean supposed to know where he was?! It’s not as if they were _stuck together_. But _nooo,_ his fellow classmates weren’t willing to understand that.

And they all knew that Dean could do nothing, since they had all seen what had happened with Michael, so they were even more relentless.

It got so bad that Becky Rosen squealed in Mr. Lafitte’s class that Dean and Castiel were _boyfriends_ , and Dean had to sit in class for thirty minutes barely holding his tears in.

Castiel hadn’t talked to him at all. The last he had heard from him was when he had spoken to Ms. Harvelle. It was as if the boy was ignoring him too. And why wouldn’t he, Dean thought sadly, when there was a rumor that Dean wanted to be his boyfriend?

He sometimes felt so annoyed that Castiel hadn’t reacted to any of the teasing, because it concerned him too after all. It was so unfair that Dean had to be the sole bearer of it all. Why was the dark haired boy not _doing anything_? Was he waiting for something big to happen, or was he simply _above reacting to petty teasing_? Well, Dean wasn’t, and he wanted to know what Castiel’s deal was. It was going too far, the whole ignoring business that Castiel had got going on.

***

That’s how Dean confronted Castiel in math class one day ten minutes before Ms. Harvelle was supposed to come in. No one was in class yet, and Dean chose that specific time to carry out the conversation so that there would be minimum witnesses.

“Castiel,” he said, walking to the boy’s desk. Castiel had been looking out of the window, but hearing his name, he turned his head to look at Dean. For a moment, the six-year-old was struck by how mature and all-knowing those eyes seemed, but then he blocked that thought out. He continued speaking, sure that he had the other boy’s attention, “Why are you not reacting to anything that has been going on?”

Castiel looked at him again with those knowing eyes, and Dean again felt like he was missing something, “Are we not boyfriends?”

For a minute, Dean was sure he misheard. He blinked, once, twice, thrice, but Castiel was still in front of him, and Castiel was still staring at him as if it was his turn to speak. So he did.

 “...What?”

“Are we not boyfriends?” Castiel repeated, as calmly as the last time.

And Dean repeated his own question, “What? _What?!_ You--you--who said tha--what is your problem?! We are _not_ boyfriends. We aren’t. We aren’t! We will never, ever be! You are not my boyfriend. _And you will never be!_ ”

Dean knew he was getting worked up, but he couldn’t stop it. He had had enough, and seeing Castiel just so calmly declare that they were boyfriends just set him off.

He was vaguely aware that the rest of his classmates had filed into the room and watching the proceedings with interest, but he just didn’t _care_.

Getting into Castiel’s personal space, he ground out one last time, “I am _not_ your boyfriend, you faggot.”

Somebody gasped, and Dean spun around to see Ms. Harvelle standing in the doorway, a hand over her mouth.

Oh no. _Oh no_ , he was going to get the scolding of his life. He didn’t know the meaning of the word he called Castiel, but he knew that it was bad. His father had spoken it once when he had drunk from the bottles mom hid from him and Sam, and he knew that it was wrong to say the word to anybody.

And Castiel, who had been completely fine with _everything_ so far, was suddenly looking at Dean with such disdain in his eyes that Dean couldn’t help it. He burst into tears, right in front of Zachariah and Michael, in front of his other classmates, in front of Ms. Harvelle (who looked very conflicted), and in front of Castiel, who made no move to wipe that hateful expression off his face.

Dean did what he always did best. He turned, and ran out of the room, ignoring all the whispers and Ms. Harvelle’s call.

***

Word spread like wildfire about the incident, and surprisingly, people _stopped_ talking about it. Wherever he went, they would stop and stare at him, before resuming their work, but he didn’t miss the mumbled conversations that took place.

He didn’t understand. First they started a rumor about him, and then they made fun of him. Finally, they got scared of him? Really, that was it?

Ms. Harvelle had called his mother to school and told her what happened. Mary had been aghast that he would say something like that, and Dean had got the scolding of a lifetime. He suspected she knew how he had learnt the word, because things had got tense at home. Sammy had been blissfully unaware, but what else was expected from a two-year-old? But Dean knew that his mom and dad were fighting, and it was all because he had been dumb enough to open his mouth.

Even _second_ graders had found out what had happened, most probably because of that mean Crowley, and now some of them were making fun of him while others were just criticising him. Some were randomly coming up to him and asking him if he had broken up with Castiel. But those were the only people who talked about the other boy.

Everybody else had stopped mentioning them in one sentence.

And the worst thing?

The worst thing was that Dean actually _missed_ all of it. He missed seeing Castiel’s face every math class, because the boy had miraculously got his seat reassigned so that Dean could no longer see him. He missed people’s idea of Dean and Castiel being _boyfriends_ , because honestly, it was _cute_. He missed the time when people weren’t so scared of him that he’d actually have some friends. These days, he missed _everything_.

***

Dean’s seventh birthday went by, and he didn’t invite anybody to his house for a party. It was a small affair with only his family members present, and the night ended up being a disaster.

The only good thing Dean got out of that day was that Gwen told him who the man in the comic was. His name was Constantine, and she even gifted him the comics. He thanked her profusely, but she just smiled and brushed it off. It wasn’t a big deal for her, but for him it was _everything_. It was the only gift that he felt was important, however mean that made him sound.

He practiced the drawing of the man many times. He wanted to be good at drawing figures when the time came.

***

On February 10th, it was exceptionally cold. Dean was sitting on a bench under a tree’s shade when he saw a group of people talking loudly. Leaning forward, he squinted. It was hard to see what was happening, and he was about to get up and walk closer when the crowd dwindled. He saw Castiel at the center. (Of course, his brain said.)

Castiel looked... agitated, to put it simply. Meg Masters was standing in front of him, waving her tiny arms and her head, which—Dean was pretty sure—made her hair hit the boy in the face, since he recoiled.

And then Dean heard her shout, “Clarence, come on, be my boyfriend!”

_And then she kissed him on the lips._

A few things happened in the next few minutes. Castiel slapped Meg. She gasped and started crying. She slapped him back. He ran away.

And Dean just smirked and giggled.

***

People quickly became aware of the Meg incident too, and the minimum attention that was earlier given to Dean and Castiel was taken away too.

And now Dean was _really_ annoyed.

He couldn’t explain why he felt that way. After all, wasn’t he earlier wishing that everyone would stop talking about it?

It was February 14th, oddly, when it all came to light.

The answer was given to him by Jo Harvelle.

He was sitting on the same bench that he had occupied a few days ago when the third grader plopped down beside him. She was Ms. Harvelle’s daughter, and he vaguely recalled her to be the girl who had won the cooking competition last year.

She looked at him for some time before raising her eyebrow, “Well?”

Dean looked back, and parroted the word.

She sighed, and then started speaking. “You’re sad, aren’t you? That Castiel no longer talks to you.”

“...We never talked to each other even before all of this.”

“Yeah, but now you feel bad, don’t you, that he doesn’t even _look_ at you? My mom told me all that, Dean. She told me how he asked her to change his seat so that he wouldn’t be in your line of sight. She told me about what happened that day, when you, you know, called him that thing.”

Dean was suddenly met with the realisation that the girl knew a lot more about the situation than he did, and from both his and Castiel’s perspective. And of course she would. Ms. Harvelle had probably told her everything that had happened, since the day Michael and Zachariah had written those fateful words on the blackboard.

 “Sooo, do you even know why it all happened?” she asked, and Dean frowned. Yes, why had it all happened?

“I don’t know,” he replied, sighing. “All I know is that one day when I went to class Zachariah and Michael had written Dea—” he stopped himself from saying it. No matter what, he _couldn’t_ say it, it was too embarrassing. Jo said it for him, though.

“They wrote ‘Dean likes Castiel’.”

Dean nodded mutely, not meeting her eyes.

 “Oh, Dean,” she sighed, and physically turned him around. “It’s _not_ your fault that you want to avoid this, but really, it _could_ have been worse. And yeah, I get it that you’re a first grader and right now everything seems blown out of proportion, but trust me, it could have been _way_ worse. You got off easily.”

Dean wanted to argue with her, say that as a third grader it obviously felt like a small issue for her, but there _was_ some truth in her sentence. It really could have been worse.

And then she said what had been niggling at his brain since the whole shebang had started.

“But, I heard that you generally don’t get affected by such things, so I need to ask you this: why does it bother you so much, Dean? Of all things, why are you so bothered that someone said you like Castiel Novak?”

And wasn’t that the most important question? Dean was unable to say anything. All he could do was gape at her.

She smiled, and gave him the answer, “I think it’s because it’s true.”

And with that she got up from the bench. About five steps away from him, she turned around, and spoke again, “So, I think I’ve helped you enough, but there’s one more thing that you should do, maybe. Why don’t you find out why everyone thought that? And Dean, be friends with Cas. I heard from a friend of mine, who’s also a friend of Castiel’s, that he doesn’t hate you. In fact, he’d love it if you were his friend. And little steps, right? First be friends with him, and then, well...” She smiled once more, and then left.

Well... her advice was kind of good, Dean mused.

***

It turned out that the friend that Jo had been talking about had been Charlie Bradbury, a fellow first grader.

She herself came up and said to Dean, “Be his friend or I’ll get Ms. Harvelle to cancel the _Tangled_ movie watching she has secretly planned. And I know you _love_ that movie.”

Dean just looked at her, and she looked back. He couldn’t give up the chance to see _Tangled_. She raised an expectant eyebrow. He nodded, not knowing what to say.

***

Dean was a boy on a mission.

On February 17th, Monday, he walked inside math class and stopped in front of Zachariah and Michael’s desks.

“Why did you say I liked Castiel?” he asked, voice clear. A part of him wanted to be softer, he was still a bit embarrassed, but another part knew that he needed people to listen to this so that they would _stop jumping to conclusions_.

It was Michael who spoke.

“Don’t you remember, you wrote ‘I love CN’ on that piece of paper I took from you in English class that day?”

And Dean was suddenly taken back to that one math class where he had been drawing those cartoons. Oh man, _seriously_? That was the reason why he suffered so much?!

He sneaked a look at Castiel, and found him staring back. Oh God, he needed to clear this up right now.

“Look,” he said, and he was sure a few people leaned forward in their seats. Who knew first graders could be such gossipmongers? “I was drawing at that time. I was practicing cartoons, and I was drawing them by channels. I drew some from Disney. And then I wanted to draw something from Cartoon Network. But then the bell rang. So I wrote that note to remind myself. Then you took it, and I didn’t care, because by that time I remembered it anyway. See—” And Dean took out the papers he carried everywhere from his schoolbag. Spreading them out on Michael’s desk, he gestured to them with his hands, and a few students came over. On realizing what the papers had, they all started elbowing each other and talking in hushed voices. They could all see that near each drawing, there was a neat labelling of which channel the show of the character belonged to. Michael and Zachariah were quiet, with the former not meeting Dean’s eyes.

“And,” Dean said, “CN is Cartoon Network.”

Gathering his papers, he decided to leave the others to their own devices, with the realization that he didn’t, in fact, like-like Castiel Novak. He made his way to the boy. Castiel looked up at him, emotionlessly, but Dean could see the curiosity in his eyes.

“Cas, I’m sorry that you got dragged into all of this. And I’m sorry for what I said that day. Will you please forgive me?” Dean held out his hand as a gesture of truce, and Castiel grabbed it. They both looked at each other and smiled.

***

On April 17th, Dean was buzzing with excitement. It was the last day of first grade, and they had their gift ceremony. Each student was assigned someone from the class to whom they had to give something thoughtful.

Dean was supposed to give a gift to Cas, and he had the perfect thing. It was good that it was also the boy’s birthday that day.

As his name was called, he stood up from his seat and walked over to Cas’. He hoped that his gift would be appreciated, he had spent hours on it.

Putting down a sheet of paper on his desk, Dean smiled, “Happy Birthday, Cas.”

There, next to a drawing of a black haired boy, was written in Dean’s neat handwriting:

_CN, be my best friend?_

Castiel got up from his seat so fast that the plastic chair fell back. Uncaring of it, he crossed the distance around the desk, and pulled Dean in for a hug.

Something behind him hit the ground and people gasped. Ms. Harvelle cried out in surprise. Dean pulled away slightly, trying to turn his head around and see what the sound had been, but Castiel whispered to him, “Becky just fainted.”

Dean giggled, and Castiel copied him.

What Castiel didn’t see, and couldn’t tell Dean, was Charlie asking Ms. Harvelle, “Can we please watch _Tangled_ today?”

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> This was so disgustingly lovely to write that I kept fangirling over it. Started on March 13 and ended on March 31.
> 
> To be completely honest, a few of the themes used are actually things I’ve witnessed. And though I don’t remember that well now, I’ve probably experienced them too. And they are hella annoying, and really _unfair._ I wanted to capture the thoughts that go through first graders’ minds, but of course it didn’t come out perfectly. Still, I think I did a decent job? Just wondering, do seven year olds even _have_ boyfriends?! I’m... not sure......... At one point I really wanted to write “Zachariahahaha” and I even did so in my draft but then I thought better and deleted it. XD (Something to note: I was going to make Cas cry in this fic but Shitaeru is mean because she loves badassyCas so I didn’t make him cry. ‘Shitaeru’ you meanie.) Or maybe you’d have liked it? Idk. DIK.
> 
> I hope you liked this lil fic. :D Have a lovely day, Seta.ery. I mean Setaeru. XD Yes, I know the kid is too old to be Cas but deal with it. I tried drawing chibi Cas but it's been sitting half-finished in my file and I didn't bother. Sorry. XD
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr.](http://fancythingsandgossamerwings.tumblr.com)


End file.
